


wander this world [never get it back]

by 4beit



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen, read at your own peril, this explores concepts around major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23244982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4beit/pseuds/4beit
Summary: you, the other you. it’s a mind-bending concept, to think about another you; one that’s dead and buried. yet, if you were anything like yourself here, you know that sara’s right. you nearly destroyed yourself in the wake of kara’s death knowing but not yet understanding that wasn’t what she would have wanted for you.
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane
Comments: 38
Kudos: 110





	1. part one

predictably, the room is dark when you manage to open your eyes between escaping whatever nightmare you were having and reaching full consciousness. you’re curled under a thick blanket and pressed against your back is the reassuring weight of popeye. seconds pass and you can hear his tail thump lazily as he clocks the uptick in your heart rate.the near silence of your surroundings innervates the moment. you hear the gentle tap of rain from the gutter, the steady spring breeze whistling through still naked trees. it’s tranquil, and then the moment is broken as popeye shifts behind you and his hot breath rolls against your neck. you feel his slobbery tongue against your ear and even as you’re tugging the covers up and over your head, he follows. you can feel him shifting, rolling onto his back to gain a better vantage point with which to inform you that he, and likely the rest of your merry gang, need to be let outside.

this morning, such a task is a chore. at least in the painless drift of sleep you’re free from the unrelenting nothingness that accompanies retirement. being awake means finding ways to fill a day that no longer has meaning. mostly though, it means looking after the dogs. as you roll onto your back, popeye is joined in her assault by roo who pads across the bedroom from her spot in front of the door. she leaps onto the bed in one smooth motion, front paws landing firmly on your stomach and you can’t help the exhale of surprise “fuck, roo.” you groan, reaching with a hand to half-heartedly shove at roo and using the other to grab at your glasses.

slipping them on brings the room into sharp relief and the smear of red from your alarm clock becomes numbers – 0452. there was a day when waking up at this hour would have been routine. except those days are long behind you and you’re aching to go back to sleep. hell, you can feel the fog tugging at your consciousness. even artemis, however, the most reserved of your band, has gotten up from under the windowsill and meandered over to the door. she is looking back at you expectantly, all three of them are.

“fine.” you grumble after long seconds of them watching you, watching them “fine. fine.”

this is what you get for having dogs.

slipping out of bed, you press your feet to the cold hardwood floor. the sensation awakens you, old habits refusing to die as walking through the darkened cabin you call home propels you towards full consciousness. the shadows are familiar, this path one you’ve trodden many times. you trail a hand along the oak panelled wall all the same. taking satisfaction in feeling familiar grooves and remembered scratches from the early days when your dogs were still engrained in their military ways.

although the truth is, back then so were you.

this morning, the dogs seem satisfied that you’re heading towards the door and as a result, don’t bound into the living room ahead of you. instead, they follow in your wake as you cross the small space. to your left is the back door. it’s the door that opens onto a porch you built the first summer you spent here. back then it was hard work on your aching body, but it gave your mind something to do, a project to focus on. something you desperately need now. 

opening the door there’s a wash of cool air and the smell of fresh rain greets you as the dogs slip past you into the early morning dew. for long seconds you stand there, watching the lake and all its stillness. there are infinitesimal waves that lap at the muddy bank directly in line with your back porch. you see the first pinks of sunrise rising up from behind the distant treeline on the opposite shore. the colours catch on the remnant cloud cover and you watch them for long seconds, taken aback by the specificity in their beauty.

you are caught on a surfacing memory – one from another lifetime. you remember the one-bedroom apartment with its view of nothing bar skyscrapers and the way kara would sit there, perched on a stool in front of her easel. you remember the way she would paint the sunrise, as if the vibrant morning colours could replace the explosion so ingrained in her mind. you remember sitting, watching her paint, not knowing then that it would be the last night you shared together.

the clarity of the memory, one you had long since tried to keep buried in the depths of your anger and grief, leaves you breathless. it leaves you gripping at the door frame until artemis licks at your other hand. you look down, catching sight of roo and popeye lapping at the shoreline in the process. artemis however, is sitting at your feet and looking up at you with her deep brown eyes. you’ve known since shortly after you, _liberated_ her that she would have made a hell of a therapy dog if the military hadn’t eyed her for a missing person role instead. she proves you correct and artemis is nudging at your hand with her nose until you relent and stroke at her favourite spot just behind her right ear. the contact grounds you, keeps you away from the warren that is your past. 

you turn away from the sunrise and unsurprisingly, artemis follows you inside. any thought of further sleep is lost now as you instead wander over to the kitchen space. if you’re going to be awake, then you need coffee. once, you considered switching to tea. hell, you even bought the teabags and everything. but the process of making coffee isn’t easily replaced. while the rest of your life may be composed of scraping by on the barest of essentials, you refuse to suffer through any more shit coffee. it’s your hard line. no matter how much more expensive it is than the instant stuff, you flat out refuse. too much of your life was spent drinking toxic coffee in government buildings.

here, away from that, you have real coffee. the good stuff. the process itself - of measuring out the precise weight beans, grinding them while water boils, it pushes you into the rest of your day. with coffee made there is no retreat into the shelter of your bed where drifting in and out of sleep allows a day or more to pass. instead, sitting with a mug of steaming coffee propels you into motion, even if you’re disengaged from the actions themselves. it is the first in a long series of steps designed to get you through the day and into the sweet relief of unconsciousness once again.

over the course of long minutes you spend in your routine, the traitorous memory is sufficiently boxed away. sure, it’s not the healthiest of coping mechanisms but considering all that you did in the wake of kara’s death, this is a significant step forward. behind you, the tell-tale patter of clawed paws against the hardwood floor tells you that the roo and popeye have come back inside.

you pour a mugful of coffee and let it sit, watching the steam curl up and away from the surface. you hear the dogs are shifting and settling into their morning positions, giving you a short reprieve before demanding exercise. you consider spending the day in the forest with the dogs. you can hike for hours and keep them entertained. you’ve even done a couple of overnight trips – it’s not like you’ve got anyone waiting for you at the cabin so it doesn’t matter. however, before you can solidify your plans to venture forth, you remember your peppers. 

brooklyn, oregon is barely a blip on the map with nothing more than a general store, a bar and a couple of churches to its name. the people are friendly enough, the dogs go a long way in making you seem less like some insane outlaw hiding in the woods. you make it your business to go into town once a week, maybe twice, if only to give the appearance that you’re a well-adjusted member of society. that said, the general store lacks in its diversity of vegetables. 

“a big hike will have to wait.” you say to the dogs, which you know they understand because their ears perk up at the word hike “we’ll go around the lake in a while. just not yet.” you tell them, moving away from the kitchen without getting anything to eat.

once upon a time you may have given a shit about what you consumed, but these days it’s a chore. you drink coffee to wake up, you eat so you don’t die and leave the dogs out here to fend for themselves, and you stay sober because it’s cheaper than being a drunk. leaving the cupboard open as a reminder, you take your mug and walk over to the couch, sinking into it with a sigh. you eye the open porch door and frown, standing up only long enough to pull the screen across. you’d consider locking it, but with three former military dogs in-house an intruder would get ripped to shreds before you reached any one of the half a dozen guns located around the living room.

collapsing back down onto the couch you reach for the coffee and take a sip of the scalding liquid. one-by-one the dogs relax back into their normal positions. artemis curls up by the porch door, an eye trained on you and another on the morning outside. across the room, roo fetches a rawhide from a collection of toys in the corner and lays herself down in front of the fireplace. popeye jumps onto the couch and puts his head in your lap. of your three, he is without a doubt the softest. it took time for him to trust you, to relax enough into this new life. that said, now that he he has, roo is almost always by your side.

you take another sip of coffee and glance out the porch door, assessing the weather. from your vantage point the sky is a smear of fading pinks and fiery oranges – but it looks clear and cloudless. the breeze that ripples through the room isn’t exactly warm, but for a spring morning you’re not complaining. while the threat of rain is ever present in this part of the world, that shouldn’t hamper your efforts to transplant your pepper seedlings into the garden. or, what you call garden. it’s more like an eight by eight square of dirt that you try to grow edible food from.

try being the important word there.

the first time you tried you discovered just how much you were lacking a green thumb.

[it had made you ache for your mom. it made you ache for her small pockets of wisdom and how she loved to spend time in the garden after your father died.]

the first time also resulted in copious amounts of canned corn being consumed.

now though, years on, you manage to grow enough.

of course, the dogs love to help with the digging process and the rabbits love to help with the consuming process – so there’s a fence and a gate.

you have a greenhouse too, or, the approximation of a greenhouse. which generally means a very small amount of shelving covered in a sort of giant, zippered plastic bag meant for keeping the humidity in. strange as it looks, the damn thing seems to work. you haven’t looked inside for a while so the development of your peppers is something of a mystery.

it’s about as riveting as your life gets these days.

you put your mug of coffee down after a longer sip, and then look at the dogs. before you get into the garden they’ll need exercise and you’ve promised them a full romp around the circumference of the lake. you eye a well-worn pair of hiking boots by the front door and decide you’ll put them on. standing is a slow affair, your body protests with every joint crackling and your muscles presenting their familiar deep-set ache. you stand there for a moment, rolling out your left shoulder and tilting your head to the right to aid in the movement.

the dogs pay you no mind until, “so,” you say in their direction, who suddenly turn to look at you with interest “who’s ready for a walk?”

immediately they all perk up, the three of them standing, looking from you to the door and back again.

“that’s what i thought.” you say, reaching over and pushing the screen door open with a hand, letting them run out “i’ll be right behind you.” you tell them.

true to your word, you’re emerging from the cabin minutes later. your boots are on, your coffee is in hand and the knife you take into these woods is strapped to you safely.

* * *

there’s a spot, about halfway around the lake, where the forest breaks and a path leads to the water’s edge. some mornings you move past it, you work to avoid too much solemn contemplation. this morning however, roo charges down the track and you find yourself following. artemis and popeye emerge from the foliage adjacent to the track after you’ve found a particularly gnarled tree to lean against. in this space there’s a small patch of dirt that acts as a beach and you take in the long seconds of the dogs running into the water and emerging again. you watch them for a while, watch them chase each other through the forest and into the water. you watch them swim and splash.

the peace doesn’t last long. being still like this, with no task ahead of you soon leaves you restless. a familiar sick sensation twists deep in your stomach and your thoughts start drifting to dangerous places. this is your life, one second away from remembering early morning surf sessions on the beach with your dad and how the two of you would emerge from the water salty and soaked and grinning when your mom would wave you in for breakfast.

“come on,” you say sharply to the dogs, turning on your heel in the mud and venturing back up the bank.

* * *

when your cabin is back in sight, it’s not unusual for the dogs to take off. they like to bound ahead and collapse in the tall grass, rolling around until they settle in the mid-morning sun. this morning however, as you catch your first glimpse of the cabin through the thinning forest, something strange happens. the dogs don’t take off as they normally do. instead, they freeze, each of them stock still where they stand.

it gives you pause.

with nothing visible or audible in your immediate vicinity, you turn your attention to the dogs. they’re standing and sniffing the air seemingly assessing whatever it is than you can not –

a car.

you hear it faintly, hear the way it rumbles up the single track to your cabin.

it’s not exactly a threat. not yet. the odd vacationer takes a wrong turn and gets greeted by three angry dogs charging towards their car. should you call them off? probably. do you? no. it’s easier than being asked for directions. not to mention every so often you get some national park uniform coming out to assess the lake water. you call the dogs off for them; but that’s as nice as you get. this time of year it’s too early for tourists and too early in the morning for rangers - which leaves, 

well,

no one.

the dogs take off.

you follow, not at their speed, but moving along the path with silent footsteps. as you walk, your heart starts to beat a little bit faster despite the fact that from the sound alone this vehicle doesn’t sound government. you know from experience they prefer something heavier, something with a little more power. whatever is trundling down the single-track seems to be comparatively smaller than those beasts. that makes you think you’ll find an adventurous tourist, or some hippies scouting out the next best place to inconspicuously grow their weed.

either way, you’re not in the mood.

however as the engine cuts and the forest is left startled by the dogs cacophony of barking, the second strange event of the morning occurs –

they stop.

silence falls.

that unnerves you into running because if you know one thing, your dogs never shut up. not unless you give the command or they decide to leave that one particular squirrel alone for a while. the closer you get the clearer you’re able to hear that your dogs are alive and moving across the gravel. more concerning is the person who managed to –

you catch view of the person,

people,

standing on your drive.

you go very, very still.

you see a woman, blond and unfamiliar with a black eye and a limp in her step. she’s in some fancy grey get up that tells you she must be some kind of hero. it’s the driver who catches your attention, the driver who’s bending down and scratching your traitorous dogs behind the ears –

lucy.

the world seems to slow as you stare at the unmistakable person that is lucy lane. lucy lane who is standing on your driveway holding the keys to some dust covered rental car. you feel a little breathless and reach out to a tree for some kind of support, unsure if your legs might give way from the surprise of it all.

you stare, barely breathing. 

after a moment, you step forward one hand on the hilt of your knife out of reflex “what-“ you start, stop, trying to process the punch to the gut that is seeing lucy lane.

lucy turns her head towards you “alex,” she breathes.

artemis trots over to you, tail wagging happily.

“what the hell?” you manage get out, looking from lucy to the stranger and back again.

lucy’s gaze is fixed on you. her eyes are wide, but steady. her hands are by her side. even after all this time your heart stutters in your chest. it’s been years since she’s been out here and really, you look at the stranger, lucy should know better.

“we need to talk.” the blond woman says “it’s important.”

you shake your head “who the fuck are you?” you ask, voice sharp.

“alex,” lucy repeats, catching your attention “i can explain.” she says, her voice level, calming “but inside. okay?”

“i don’t understand.” you say, speaking directly to lucy now.

you’re watching her, assessing her. she looks older, she looks exhausted. she’s still working out, that much you can tell. not to mention there’s a new scar along her neck. you wonder when she got it. you wonder what happened.

you swallow hard as lucy speaks “it’s about kara.” she says.

your head snaps up and your breath catches in your chest “kara’s dead.” you spit “you, you were there.”

“i know,” lucy says, her voice thin “this, this isn’t about your kara.”

you stand in confused silence as the other woman interjects “kara on a different earth, she needs your help.”

you look over at her “and you’re from that earth?” you ask

the woman nods, then winces at the movement “kind of.”

you look back over to lucy “and you, you’re my lucy? or are you from somewhere else as well?”

lucy shakes her head “it’s me. i’m your lucy.”

“prove it.” you say, staring her down and after a beat you ask “what did i give to you at kara’s funeral?”

without hesitation, lucy replies “her necklace.”

you swallow hard, palms suddenly sweaty “when did you give it back?”

“when you turned up at my door in dc.” her replies are instantaneous, no sign of uncertainty or confusion. 

she’s your lucy; that much you know. your head is spinning as you move towards the porch door.

“okay.” you breathe “okay. we can talk.”


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you look at her and catch a flicker of _something_ in lucy’s eyes, but before you can press she says “this is time critical, alex.” she meets your gaze “kara’s been fighting for a week straight, they don’t know how much longer she can go without blowing out.”
> 
> you exhale, then look between them again, there’s a sick feeling in your stomach as you consider what they’re telling you “so you, you need me to go and do what exactly? whatever it is, i’ll probably do it, but if she’s not listening-“
> 
> “it’s you.” lucy says “she’ll listen to you.” there’s unwavering confidence in her voice.

you can’t sit down. your stomach is twisting itself into tighter and tighter knots and what little focus you have keeps drifting to lucy’s words.

_this isn’t about your kara._

whatever has brought lucy and the injured stranger to your refuge has to do with kara. another kara. a different kara.

a kara who is alive on another planet.

the thought is dizzying. although the existence of multiple planes of reality had been proven since you were a preteen, actually reaching them was supposed to be nigh impossible. given your retired status, the last thing you had expected was for lucy and some stranger to turn up at your door asking for help about events in a different plane of reality. you have a thousand questions.

“alex,” lucy prompts from her spot at the kitchen table “you should sit down.”

you shake your head, you can’t contemplate sitting right now. not when there’s a wildfire in your veins “i’m fine.” you lie “who are you?” you ask, turning to look at the woman sitting on your couch.

“sara lance.” she says.

you blink “is that name supposed to mean something?”

“i guess not,” sara lance concedes “i’m part of the legends of tomorrow.”

you can’t help but snort, the name is obscene “the who?” you glance to lucy “who the fuck did you bring here?”

“let her talk.” lucy says and her voice is still unnervingly calm and collected. something about the shadows in lucy’s eyes as she meets your gaze grounds you, convinces you to do as she asks. 

“we travel through time fixing anomalies in the past and future.” sara lance says.

“so if there’s a whole group of you why do you need me?” you ask, arms folded across your chest “what can i do that you, the legends of tomorrow,” you say the name with more grandure than is particularly required and you catch lucy rolling her eyes “can’t? and what does this have to do with kara?”

sara hesitates, looking over at lucy. you watch lucy nod, some sort of encouragement to keep going.

you’re getting impatient.

“just say it.” you snap.

there’s a moment of silence wherein lucy winces, but sara remains unfazed “this isn’t easy.” she says “on another earth, not this one obviously, you were killed.”

you blink in surprise “what? how? when?”

“about a week ago.” sara has “you were killed as part of a target assassination attempt of deo leadership by a group called-" 

“it was cadmus.” lucy interjects, her voice still soft, a sort of forced calm you realize, and for good reason.

as soon as the word leaves lucy’s lips, as soon as she reminds you of the bastard organization that tortured your kara to death, you freeze, your whole body going still. there’s a rushing in your ears, a pounding in your chest “cadmus?” you repeat “black book organisation involved in all kind of fucked up, alien torture in the name of science, shit?”

if sara or lucy is alarmed at your outburst and the sudden tension in the air, they hide it well. 

“you know of them?” sara says, and you wonder about how much of your past lucy has told her.

for half a second you’re distracted, attention caught by artemis wandering over from her spot in front of the fire to press against your shins comfortingly “something like that.” you say, anger still burning deep in your chest, and even after all this time you’re still near consumed by it “they-“ you start, cutting sara off before she has a chance to ask, “they killed kara.” you grit, taking shallow breath “tortured her to death.”

one hand curls into the soft material of artemis’ collar, using it to ground you to the present, to this moment where you’re not bursting into a laboratory only to find that you’re too late. despite your efforts, in the back of your mind the scene is playing out - a memory that has haunted a thousand of your nightmares. or more accurately, what fragments of it there are left.

so much have you gone through since stumbling into that room illuminated by the green glow of kryptonite, the room thick with the tang of blood. it took mere seconds for you to register kara’s body strapped to a table, pale,

too pale.

it took seconds more for your worst fears to be confirmed.

after that,

after that your anger took over and your mind blurs into one painful moment after the next. you’re thankful you don’t remember all that you did. it’s probably better that way. only having the echoes of the monster you became instead of the full play-by-play.

artemis licks at your hand, lumping up so her paws are resting on your shoulders and she’s pressing the weight of herself into you. it takes you a moment more to realise that someone is saying your name,

someone familiar.

someone –

lucy.

you blink and take a deep breath, focusing on the steady thrum of artemis’ heartbeat and her rhythmical, quick breathing. lucy has stood, her hand at your elbow. you don’t shy away. you can’t remember the last time someone gave you comfort.

maybe it was years ago.

“i burned them to the ground.” 

to say the words at long last is a relief, and there is unmistakable venom in your voice as the raging fire in your veins mellows “i,” you swallow the rest of your crimes, meeting lucy’s gaze.

you know she remembers the night you turned up; all those years later; with all that blood on your hands.

“what have they done over there?” you ask, voice rough, looking at lucy.

“apparently on another earth they found a way to become a little more mainstream.” lucy says as a means of explanation.

you frown “what does that mean, mainstream?”

“cadmus got approval to use national city as a testing ground for the betterment of our society campaign.” sara lance says “it was promoted as this way to help aliens get papers and visas. but very quickly it turned into rounding up aliens. anyone who couldn’t prove their human status, was arrested and shipped off to some laboratory or fuck knows where. that’s what it started as.” sara lance explains.

you stand there, wishing you could be surprised – but apparently this is not the end of the story.

sara continues, “there were people trying to help the aliens, the deo amongst them. the deo started trying to get them off earth and to somewhere safer, trying to keep them out of harms way. but it was dangerous work, cadmus were relentless, and soon enough things escalated. cadmus started taking anyone who couldn’t prove their citizenship - human, alien, whoever. this pushed people over the edge. the city was on the brink of collapse.” sara pauses.

“what happened then?” you ask, unable to stop yourself. 

“cadmus assassinated you.” sara says “we don’t think they knew who you were. they knew you were a director, but they didn’t know you were supergirls sister.” she pauses, the silence heavy “after, after you died kara tried to plead with the government, explain that this was too much, that it had gone too far. but,” sara swallows hard and you can picture kara trying to be reasonable, trying to hold on to the last threads of herself to make the madness stop “the government came out in full support of cadmus. after that,” sara shakes her head “whatever it was that had been holding kara back after you were killed, wasn’t there anymore.”

you remember your own rage, far more immediate than kara’s but just as all consuming “what’s happened?” you ask, almost afraid to know the answer. 

“she’s fighting cadmus.” sara says “alone. the justice league are off-world. but we, the legends, and the deo are doing what we can to support her but she’s not communicating with us. she’s just,” sara looks across the room at you “it’s been a week alex and she has barely stopped. she hasn’t’ eaten, hasn’t slept. we’re not sure how much longer she can keep doing this, and when she-, if she-,” sara breaks off for a moment “if she falls there’s no promise that we’ll get to her first.”

you hear what sara isn’t saying – that cadmus could get her, again. could experiment on her, again. could kill her, again.

no.

“what happens if i turn up?” you ask “not just to kara, but to the country? kara’s fighting for something important.”

“the justice league are coming back,” sara says, and the answer rolls off her tongue with ease – but it’s lucy’s half shift in her chair that catches your attention.

you look at her and catch a flicker of _something_ in lucy’s eyes, but before you can press she says “this is time critical, alex.” she meets your gaze “kara’s been fighting for a week straight, they don’t know how much longer she can go without blowing out.”

you exhale, then look between them again, there’s a sick feeling in your stomach as you consider what they’re telling you “so you, you need me to go and do what exactly? whatever it is, i’ll probably do it, but if she’s not listening-" 

“it’s you.” lucy says “she’ll listen to you.” there’s unwavering confidence in her voice.

you know she’s right.

“so i talk to her.” you say “and then what? if everything is like you said, she can’t just go back to her life. she can’t stay-“ you trail off, gaze sliding from sara, to lucy.  
you understand why they’ve come to you.

“you want me to bring her here.” you say, looking directly at your friend.

“it doesn’t sound like the worst idea.” lucy says evenly.

“we may not even get along.” you fire back “she’s from a whole other earth. a whole other timeline.” 

“alex,” lucy says “she’s taken on the united states government because they killed you. she’s your sister, even if she is from another timeline.”

you know what lucy says must be true; and the prospect of seeing kara again - 

“okay.” you say, looking back to sara “i’ll go. but i’m going to need specifics.”

parts of your mind from another life are coming alive; and the questions you ask come naturally “what’s the full plan? are you going to just drop me off in the vicinity of kara and hope?”

“how bad is it if i say, pretty much?” sara replies “we’re stretched thin as it is right now. between finishing evacuations, search and rescue and supporting supergirl, we don’t have that much manpower left over.”

“fine.” you say, then you turn to lucy “i don’t suppose there’s any way i can persuade you to stay here and look after my dogs.”

lucy snorts “nice try, danvers. i’m coming. someone’s got to cover your back.”

you know there’s not a chance in hell you’ll be changing her mind, “okay, but i’ll need to get some stuff together first.”

sara nods “do what you need to.”

“i will.” you say “but i gathered that this is at least somewhat time critical.”

“you could say that.” sara says, head tilting in agreement.

her words make your stomach clench “i’ll be quick.” you say, whatever path of destruction kara has started down you know that you have to stop her.

you have to.

you’ve crossed that line and you’re living on the other side.

you don’t want that for her.

this dark and violent side of yourself, the side that snapped necks and drew blood without remorse, it can never be buried again. you are that monster; you have the capacity. you don’t want kara to live with the same pain as you. although, perhaps she already knows the truth of her own willingness to cross the line. your kara certainly did; had made it abundantly clear that she would _kill_ for you. dying for you had never been a thought you were willing to entertain, even though you knew the answer to that question. 

on the other side of kara’s death and your own destruction, you still haven’t worked out how to live for her.

from to your left, lucy's voice cuts through your head “you okay, danvers?”

“oh yeah.” you say, voice flat “this is just a typical afternoon for me.” the end comes out sharper than you intended, but lucy lets the words roll off her “sorry.” you say “i’ll just be a second and then we’re gonna have to drop the dogs off.” you say.

“they could come.” sara offers.

“as much as they would all love that,” you say, because the temptation is there, to bring them and unleash them upon a new world, but “i can’t risk them. i need them safe.”

“of course.” sara nods. 

“we’re going to have to swing by the general store on the way to, wherever it is we’re going.” you say “jemma will look after the dogs.”

“jemma?” lucy asks, the ghost of another lifetime in her question.

“she’s a good person.” you grunt, moving towards the bedroom.

you close the door, needing a moment of privacy away from sara and lucy. this is all beyond surreal. the fact that this stranger has rocked up, telling you an insane story of cadmus and your own death and the destruction kara is causing –

you know this could be a suicide mission, but there’s also a chance you could be going to help kara, save her from herself, from cadmus. 

and with that on the table,

any risk is worth it.

the bedframe is easy enough to move, and when you do it reveals an unremarkable patch of floorboards. however, you, attuned to the cabin’s secrets, feel along a plank until your fingers hit a nearly imperceptible groove and press down. the far side of the board flips up.

tugging it up reveals a hidey hole.

if you’re honest, you never thought you would be digging in here. you never meant to.

reaching in with a hand you pull out a small velvet pouch. just touching it, knowing what’s inside, makes your fingers tremble. you rock back onto your knees, holding the pouch in your hands and just feeling the weight of its contents. you take a wavering breath and on a moment of confidence, tug the drawstrings and open the pouch.

two things slip out when you upturn the bag.

two items tangle in each other.

the first, 

your mothers wedding ring. you’d taken it from her cold finger, the only physical memento you have of home and her.

the second,

kara’s necklace. you untangle it slowly, hesitantly. it catches the light, spinning as you hold it by the chain.

you feel a little sick, suddenly unsure.

are you ready to see kara, after all this time and all that you’ve done?

maybe. maybe not. but it doesn’t sound like there’s time to waste.

with a breath, you slip the necklace on, the only way you know to keep it safe. the chain feels cool against your neck, the sensation unfamiliar.

all you need to do now is,

well, 

go see kara.

* * *

jemma looks less surprised than you expect when you walk into the store “hey,” she says “i was wondering when you’d be in, your order has arrived.” she says, reading the look on your face “but that’s not what you’re here for.” she says.

it’s not a question.

you’re not sure if it’s relief you see in her eyes “no,” you say, slipping your hands into your pockets “jemma, i need a favour.”

her brow furrows “are you in trouble?” jemma asks.

her concern makes you ache viscerally, somewhere deep in your chest “no,” you tell her “i have to go out of town for a while and i, uh, i can’t bring the dogs with me.”

“when will you be back?” jemma asks after a beat 

a good question.

“i’m not sure.” you tell her and part of you realises that’s the truth.

sure, you’re going off to save kara – but you have no clue of how long it could take or even what year it will be here when you come back.

if you come back.

jemma breaks your thoughts “you won’t have to worry about your dogs.” she says “no matter what.”

_no matter what._

your stomach clenches, that deep-set ache in your chest constricts your breathing “thanks.” you tell her “i’ll owe you.”

“don’t worry about it.” jemma says with an easy smile “it’s what i do for friends.”

considering how limited your interactions with jemma have been, how little you’ve given her in return for all her kindness, you think calling you a friend is generous on her part. you look down, then towards the door “i’ve got them with me. i’ll, i’ll go get them.”

go say goodbye to them.

they won’t like it.

“sure,” jemma says “you can just bring them in.”

“i’ve got their beds too. some of their toys. you can use the food i forgot, for them.” you’re nervous suddenly, the idea of going without your dogs.

it’ll be the first time in years they haven’t been by your side.

before jemma can say anything else, you’re heading back outside to the truck.

lucy is still sitting in the cab, but sara has wandered across the parking lot, either talking to herself, communicating with someone else, or just stretching her legs. either way, you don’t pay her much attention. not in this moment.

in the flatbed, the dogs are all leaning over and watching your return. you walk over to them, to the side and reach for roo, scratching her along that favourite spot on her shoulder “so,” you tell them “you’re not going to like this.” you look at them individually.

popeye is on the left and is sitting, watching you with interest as he puts one paw on the side of the truck. you smile, knowing it’s his way of asking for attention. you don’t deny him, one hand running along the flat of his back. in the middle is artemis, she’s all concern and trying to lick your chin. roo, seated as well, is leaning into your touch. they’re all paying attention, listening, as if they’ll be able to understand your explanation.

“i have to go away for a while.” you say after a moment “to go get kara. you guys are going to be with jemma. you know her, she always gives you treats.” you watch your dogs again, they can sense your twisting nerves, they know that something is building, that something is happening.

they don’t like it.

you walk to the back of the truck and pull the back down, grabbing at the stack of beds and small pile of toys you had collected “come on.” you say, nodding your head “down.”

none of the dogs move.

you look at them a little pleadingly “don’t fight me on this.” you tell them “come on,” you take a step back “i’m not leaving you forever.” you add “and if it all works, i’ll be bringing you guys a new friend.”

this seems to work, and suddenly the dogs are jumping off the back of the truck.

you walk back to the general store with the dogs trailing behind you. inside, jemma is waiting “i’m sure you know them,” you say “but the german shepard is roo, the springer spaniel is artemis and the belgian malinois is popeye.” you explain “they normally eat in the morning and if you let them outside they may wander away but they’ll stick together and always come back. i guess, if they disappear when they’re with you, check my cabin. they're good dogs. former military but they’ve retired pretty well.”

“i’ll look after them.” jemma promises “look after yourself, okay?”

you swallow hard and nod “yeah, i will. thanks again.” you look down at your dogs, “be good.” you tell them, but stop yourself there for fear of further emotions welling up “stay.” you tell them firmly.

then you’re gone, out the door without looking back.

when you climb back in the truck, and before sara has climbed back into the flatbed, lucy says “those dogs did you a world of good.”

“yeah,” you agree “yeah they did.” you look over at her “glad you liberated them with me?”

lucy smiles across the cab at you “is that what you call it, liberation?”

“theft feels a bit harsh.” you say, watching as sara taps on the rear window.

“ready when you are.” she says, voice dulled “lucy will tell you the way.”

* * *

stepping onto the ship you see a brick wall of a man standing, frowning. your first assessment tells you his left arm should probably be in a sling. as you walk in, his gaze slides from you to lucy, then to sara. there’s visible relief in the way his shoulders drop as she closes the ships door “took you long enough.” he grunts.

“that’s mick rory.” sara says.

“alex danvers.” you say to him, as if he doesn’t already know that.

“you look good for a dead person.” is his response, you blink at him, but say nothing.

“just as a warning,” sara says, flipping some switches as she speaks “the effects of time and space travel can fuck you up. so just be prepared.”

micky chimes in with “how well do you know french?”

you frown at the question “fluent.” you say “why?”

he shrugs “no reason.”

“better put your seatbelt on.” lucy advises from next to you “it’s definitely a rough ride.”

you wonder how she knows that piece of information, but before you have time to ask further time and space is beginning to warp around you. it’s a sickening feeling as if your insides are trying to become your outsides and your brain is being compressed into a tuna can. you feel sick, but also like if you vomit you might not ever stop. the ship around you is a blur of colour and sound and movement that feels like you’re in willy wonka’s elevator on steroids.

then you’re still.

or,

the ship is still, but you’re not sure you have a body anymore.

after a few moment you slam back into yourself and your body feels like it’s trying to catch up. which is not an improvement. you curl forwards, pressing into the seatbelt you’d last minute thrown on. you try to open your eyes, but whatever you see certainly isn’t the floor or your feet. distantly someone may be talking to you, but they sound like the adults in a charlie brown special.

it takes long, long seconds of fluctuating between complete certainty that you will spend the rest of your existence like this and relying on the fact that this will all be temporary, for the feelings to begin to fade.

it takes several seconds more for you to be able to see the ship around you and where you expect some wise crack from mick, instead he’s holding a bottle of water your way and says “everyone’s first time sucks.”

you take the water and empty it in three long pulls.

it helps.

the rest of your senses come back to you and the noise of battle sparks old reflexes. you can hear the crumbling of buildings, the echoes of gunfire. there’s radio chatter from mick’s comms. it’s coming from all directions. you straighten, scanning for the danger and its source.

the destruction seems everywhere around you.

“did you bring any weapons?” sara asks, cutting through your thoughts and standing by the door.

you shake your head.

“do you want some?” mick asks from behind you “we’ve got some pretty cool ones.”

again, you shake your head “as long as none of you guys shoot me, i’ll be fine.”

“that’s a terrible plan.” lucy say “you should take something.”

you shake you head “kara’s not a threat and if i walk at her with a weapon she might react badly. you said you were going to cover me, it’ll make your job interesting.”

“i hate you.” lucy replies, deadpan.

“you’re insane.” mick chimes in, with something like admiration in his voice.

“tell me something i don’t know.” you reply easily, stepping towards the now open door and into the dust of national city.

* * *

national city is all but decimated. you see the ruined structures of buildings you recognise and ruins of ones you don’t. you stand for a moment, dust swirling at your feet, standing in the shade of the ship. outside it’s easier to pinpoint the epicentre of the chaos, it must be blocks from you, straight ahead. you can see the dust cloud and you can hear gunfire. you expect the nerves to rattle through your veins like they had on the drive to sara’s ship,

but they’re not.

you’re calm.

lucy is closest to you, her soft “i know you won't, but be safe.” is meant only for you to hear.

her words curl in your chest, warming you, calming you further. 

you look over at sara “i’m going in alone. get everyone on your side to cease fire.”

“are you sure?” sara asks

“you brought me here for a reason.” you tell her “let me do this.”

“okay.” sara says, turning to speak into her comm, but you don’t hang around to listen.

instead, you step beyond the shadow of the ship and into blistering sunlight. you’re stepping onto what was once a road, but the asphalt is cracked and ripped up in places. cars unfortunate enough to be abandoned on the streets are smashed by slabs of building three times their size. every so often you see blood, half a glance would practically confirm a victim who couldn’t get away – but you don’t look.

you’re focused on the path ahead and the quiet that ascends.

it seems that sara has been able to convey your request.

you keep walking.

the city silent is eerie. when the sounds of battle raged around you it was a more familiar scene, with this level of destruction it didn’t have to be national city. it could be any of a dozen places you wrought havoc in the years after kara’s death. with silence surrounding you it feels surreal, like a movie set.

except this is worse.

this destruction is real.

then, dragging you from your thoughts there’s a flurry of movement above, around you know it can only be one thing, on person - kara landing in front of you. she’s mere meters away, in front of a flattened truck blocking the road. even without looking at her you sense that she’s stock still. much like you. it takes long seconds before you can look at her properly – suit ripped and covered in dust and blood. except that’s not what you see. when you look at her, when you properly force yourself to look at kara,

the breath is ripped from your chest and you’re left gasping.

it’s been so long. for all the differences you told yourself to expect, for all the ways you were sure an alternate earth would chance kara into someone you didn’t recognise. 

she looks exactly the same. blue eyes, a familiar crinkle amidst her confusion. 

your heart is pounding. 

for kara’s part, she’s staring at you, wild eyes wide

“no,” she says finally, “this isn’t real. you’re not real, you’re – you’re dead.”

her voice is the same.

you force a breath and then say “i’m real.”

the words are soft, unexpectedly so “i’m not, i’m not the alex you lost but,” you can see the suspicion in kara’s eyes, and you lift a hand to your neck. you project each motion slowly, you need kara to know you’re not going to hurt her “you gave me this.” you say, holding her necklace up for you to see “not you, you. a different you. from another earth. you gave this to me. we were sisters there too.” your gaze is locked with kara’s now.

you wait.

her eyes shift to the necklace, catching there. she barely seems to be breathing. 

in her protracting silence, you press on “i lost you, on my earth. i lost you, you died. i couldn’t save you. i know how you feel. i know why you’re doing this. but,” you’re on a roll now, unable to stop “but it doesn’t help. kara, doing this, all this, it doesn’t help. you think it will, believe me - i tried. for so long i tried this.” you gesture around you “but all it did was put more blood on my hands.”

you run out of words, gasping for breath.

you look at kara, holding the necklace for her to see. it spins in the light.

she looks at it, up at you, back to the necklace.

“it’s the same.” she says finally – as she speaks you catch sight of movement behind her, shadows in dust.

“the necklace?” you ask, watching her gaze dropping not to the necklace as you had thought, but your chest.

“your heartbeat.” kara corrects “it’s the same as, as my alex.”

you take a deep breath “you don’t have to do this.” you say quietly, “come with me.”

kara looks at you “where would we go? the world, the world-“ she struggles and stops. you can see the beginning of the haze breaking, or a moment of clarity is descending.

you know that in the minutes that follow, if the clarity holds, the revelation of what she’s done will hit. you remember your own pain, you remember the first time you realised how much death you had left in your wake. it consumed you, only lucy stopped you from falling deeper into your own darkness.

“we’d go to my world.” you tell kara “you’ll be safe there.”

kara’s eyes are wide, some of the wildness is retreating and you dare to take a step forward.

pause.

you watch her reaction but see no flinch.

step again. pause again.

kara is still, barely breathing.

step. pause. step. pause.

you’re feet from her and this close you can see how exhausted she is. you can see the trembling of her hands and the debris in her hair. you can see the tear tracks carved through dust covered cheeks. you see her fragility where other people only see danger.

you hold out your hand “come with me.” you say gently “you don’t have to do this.”

silence.

nothing around you moves.

silence still. 

kara looks away from you. 

there’s a stiffness to her shoulders that descends into trembling hands. 

she shakes her head “i can’t.” she says quietly.

you remember your own hesitation, with lucy in dc years ago. you remember how hard she worked to convince you that even after all the death and pain you caused, 

you still deserved good things. 

“you can.” you murmur.

silence still. 

a longer, more poignant pause and then, 

then,

then kara takes your hand.

“okay.” she says quietly “okay.”

you lace her fingers with yours. you exhale slowly, revelling in this contact. time seems to slow, the world moving on around you as you, for the first time in an eternity, hold kara in your arms. 

you think you’ll remember this moment forever. the weight of kara pressed against you, her hands gripping your waist and her head tucked against your shoulder. 

you’re strangled by an upswelling of tears that blur your vision and you open your mouth to speak, but your soft words are lost as lucy shouts 

“get down!”

and before you can react, kara buckles into your arms and all hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you very much for all your comments and kudos on the last chapter.


	3. part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there’s a rising panic in your chest as you find yourself unable to see kara. you need to see her, need to know that she’s okay, that she’s alive, that you weren’t too late.

several things have happened at once and you have time to process exactly none of it. the world has exploded into noise and violence. you register the rattle of gunfire, the shudder through the earth as heavier artillery lands somewhere close by and,

is that a bear?

you don’t have time to even begin to sort that out because your attention snaps back to kara. she’s slumped in your arms, pale faced, fully unconscious and barely breathing. the sight makes your stomach clench and you stumble backwards, holding her tight. you need to get kara to the ship, you need to not get shot by cadmus or whoever the fuck is shooting at you. you need –

your heel catches on a lip of cracked road and you’re staggering backwards with one hand still wrapped around kara and the other reaching out wildly. you expect to grab the remnants of a wall or a car, but instead you find yourself being caught by mick. you land against him, half standing and still gripping at kara. as for mick, he’s got a gun in one hand that’s shooting some kind of green lasers, but with his other, he pushes you upright.

“thanks.” you say breathlessly.

mick looks down at kara “we should get her out of here.” he says, wordlessly handing you his gun and scooping kara into his arms.

doubtless, you could have done it yourself, but mick makes it look easy. you feel the weight of the gun in your hand and for the first time turn to assess the situation. you’re shocked by the onslaught of people around you. there’s the familiar tactical uniforms of the deo as they return fire to what must be cadmus and a –

“they have a tank?” you choke, turning back around as mick all but runs with kara.

“should have seen supergirl throwing them around.” mick says breathlessly “that was impressive.”

you can imagine.

from your right, lucy emerges, scrambling down from a heap of rubble “fuck,” she winces “i am getting too fucking old for this.” she groans, then seeing kara in mick’s arms her eyes go wide “is she-“

“unconscious.” you say, unable to explain further, not daring to say more “we need to get the fuck out of here.” you say, then adding, “they have tanks.”

“yeah.” lucy says, smearing blood from a cut across her cheek in an attempt to staunch the flow “i did notice that.”

the ship comes into view and you’re not sure you’ve ever been so glad. you can see sara waiting, can see the way she’s itching to get involved in the fight. you can only imagine what it must have taken for her to linger by the ship waiting for you to come back with kara. you see the moment that sara pieces together an unconscious kara and the rest of you running. you can see the way she turns and disappears into the ship.

you’re nearly there when an explosion throws you off your feet. you feel the ground shift beneath you and the shockwave pass through you. by the time your mind catches up with where your body is – your head is ringing. gasping for breath, you see that mick has somehow managed to keep running, he’s less than ten meters from the ship. you’re sure that the new crater in the road some two hundred meters behind you came from whatever that tank is shooting att.

fuck.

you roll onto your back and see lucy lying on her side, eyes shut.

fuck. fuck.

“lucy!” you shout, your voice foreign to your own ears. you reach over and grab her hand “lucy!” you repeat.

her eyes flicker.

you exhale.

“come on,” you say, nodding towards the ship “we have to get out of here.”

this is a warzone unlike anything you thought you were prepared for; and the longer you linger the more you’re certain that cadmus will get a chance to kill you for a second time. 

together you and lucy stand on shaking legs. 

you look at her, blood still pouring from her cheek and a dazed look in her eyes “you still excited about them tanks?” lucy breathes.

you shake your head, and stumble towards the ship with her hand in yours. it’s a short run, an unsteady stumble until you’re past the threshold with a sigh of relief. immediately you notice that it’s quieter inside as the hatch shuts automatically behind you.

“fuck.” you gasp, sagging into the wall “where’s kara?” you ask, looking up and around “sara?” you press.

there’s a rising panic in your chest as you find yourself unable to see kara. you need to see her, need to know that she’s okay, that she’s alive, that you weren’t too late.

“the med bay.” sara calls over her shoulder “mick took her there. you two need to sit down.” she says and her voice is one of authority and command, there is no argument to be had “we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

lucy has already collapsed into a chair, eyes squeezed shut. you do the same, mentally preparing for the sickening out of body experience as you had on the way out. yet as time and space begins to warp around the ship, the feeling doesn’t come. you feel a pressure in your head, a rising in your stomach like the ship is falling and falling, but you stay firmly in your body. you don’t necessarily enjoy the experience that much more, but when the ship finally comes to a stop, you’re able to get immediately to your feet.

you waver for a moment, blood rushing from your head as you stand there until “where’s the med bay?” you press.

“i’ll show you.” sara says, standing up “but you’re going to have to help me get lucy there.”

you turn and see lucy is leaning back in her chair “i’m fine.” she argues, but her gaze is unfocused and you feel a pang of concern through your stomach.

“come on,” you say, half kneeling and slipping an arm under lucy’s shoulders “let’s get you to the med bay. we can check in on kara.”

as much as lucy argues that she’s fine, she leans heavily into you when she stands “i’m tired of getting blown up.” she says “makes my head hurt.” she looks up at you “you’re bleeding.” she notes.

“i’ll be fine.” you say, sure it’s gravel or debris “let’s get you somewhere you can lay down.”

“med bay is this way.” sara says, leading you deeper into the ship.

* * *

“we don’t have much time to hang around.” sara says, looking over to you “i’m sorry, but we have limited time before the wormhole we used to get here will close up. if we miss it, we could land back there weeks or months later.”

you understand, can’t imagine the risks they’re taking just to bring kara back here. your gaze is fixed on kara, has been from the moment you walked into the med bay. she’s laid out on a bed, with mick next to her as some sort of guard. in this harsh light of the ship you can see just how worn she is. the suit is ragged and torn, covered in dust, blood and debris. her face is tracked with dirt, deep shadows under her eyes betraying the depths of her own exhaustion. you watch the steady rise and fall of her chest as a means of reassuring yourself, she’s battered but alive.

alive.

kara.

your head spins.

you look over at sara “thank you.” you say, voice thick “you took big risks coming to get me, getting kara out of there.”

“we couldn’t let her kill herself fighting cadmus.” sara says “it’s not, it’s not what you would have wanted.”

you, the other you. it’s a mind-bending concept, to think about another you; one that’s dead and buried. yet, if you were anything like yourself here, you know that sara’s right. you nearly destroyed yourself in the wake of kara’s death, knowing but not yet understanding it wasn’t what she would have wanted for you. never, on this earth or any other, would you want kara to suffer through what you did.

“how long has it been since we left?” lucy asks through the silence, sounding much more coherent, less concussed.

“three weeks.” sara says “it’s the closest i could get without danger.”

“danger?” you ask.

“time is fucked up.” sara says “we can’t go back to exact times and places we’ve been before. it, messes with the fabric of reality or something.”

“well,” you say “thank you. and, i hope-“ you pause, not sure what you’re hoping for.

that earth was a warzone, national city was decimated. you couldn’t begin to predict the way the country would move on from that, back to something stable, something safe. the justice league would help but –

your thought about the justice league reminds you of the way lucy shifted, the way she looked away. you look over at lucy now, she’s watching you, watching the way your mind is piecing together the part you missed from that conversation. you see the widening of her eyes, the tension across her shoulders.

you look over at sara “i hope you guys don’t lose anyone.” you say steadily, no point in picking a fight.

you were lied to, but it was in the name of saving kara’s life.

so,

“thanks.” sara says, and you can see the way she reads you – she knows you know “we’ll help you get kara to the truck.” she says.

you look over at mick “thank you.” you say to him.

he shrugs, waves a hand “don’t mention it.”

you look over to lucy “ready?”

she nods gingerly “i can drive.” she says “so you can sit in the back, with kara.”

you snort “with your head injury? i don’t think so.”

“fine.” lucy says without protest - a worrying sign in itself “i’ll sit in the back with kara.”

* * *

driving up the single track, with its trees that press close against the road and leave it cast in shadow, you feel a swell of appreciation. in your version of reality you’ve been gone a couple of hours? half a day? but it feels like more, the exposure to the warzone that was national city – it’s dragged old memories to the surface. memories from a life that’s not so far away as you would like it.

when, at long last, the trees begin to thin and the shimmering blue water of the lake comes into view, a long breath escapes your chest. you see your cabin, untouched and unaffected by any inclement weather you may have missed. you half expect to see the dogs come bounding towards the truck but of course, they’re with jemma. you put the truck into park and sit there for a moment, watching the lake, feeling the breeze ripple through the cab of the truck. you’re home. it’s a strange feeling, a place that you tried never to care about, is home. it’s your home.

well,

it’s your home and maybe, maybe it’ll be kara’s as well.

you climb out of the truck “how’s your head?” you ask, one hand trailing along the side of the truck.

“aches.” lucy says “i need to sleep.”

you nod, then “we left them.” you say, looking over at her “you saw that world, we left them to deal with it. alone.”

“how did you know,” lucy asks “that the justice league weren’t coming back.”

“when sara said it, you shifted, looked away. like you wanted to say something else; but didn’t.” you say, pulling down the back of the truck.

“she told you what you needed to hear.” lucy says, scooting across the back of the truck until her legs hang off the edge and she considers you “would it have made a difference if we had told you the truth?”

you exhale a breath and think about her question “i don’t think so.” you say “maybe before, maybe in a timeline where kara, our kara, hadn’t died i would have wanted to help them, to make sure things get fixed. but that’s not the reality we live in. this was a chance to save kara, this was about keeping her safe and i – after losing her, i couldn’t let her get killed again.”

lucy’s hand takes yours “you did the right thing.”

you swallow hard, gaze fixed over lucy’s shoulder at kara’s unconscious form “i can’t believe she’s, i don’t, this was nothing i ever dreamed of.” you blink quickly, and squeeze lucy’s hand “we need to get her inside.” you say , voice thick “she’ll have my room. you’ll have the couch.”

“what about you?” lucy asks.

“i’ll be fine on the floor.” you say “the dogs will love it.” you look over at lucy “once we have kara settled, and once i clean that cut on your cheek, i’m going to get the dogs from jemma.”

“you need to rest too.” lucy says “you’ve travelled to another world, and back. and went into a warzone and got blown up. same as me.”

“i will.” you say, and it’s only half a lie really “i just, i need the dogs back.”

“okay.” lucy says, then slides off the truck “let’s get kara inside.”

* * *

you write the note carefully, holding back the wash of thoughts that want to flood the page. you keep it simple, aware that the person currently in your bedroom is not

your kara.

this kara owes you nothing.

behind you, lucy shifts on the couch and says softly “you writing her an essay?” 

you look down at the few sentences you’ve managed to pull together

__

_you’re safe._

__

_take your time._

“no,” you sigh, finishing with a

__

_\- alex_

“definitely not.” you add, leaving the pen on the counter and moving back towards the bedroom.

one glance tells you that kara is still out cold. the curtains are pulled back from the window, allowing the bedroom to be flooded with sunlight – it’s not sunlamps, but it should still work, albeit slower. you cross the room as silently as possible, placing the note on the bedside table, one corner underneath a mug of water you left for her. part of you aches to linger, as you did for your kara. you would spend long nights by her side, holding her hand, feeling the strong thrum of her pulse under your fingertips. despite the ache in your chest that swells as you turn to leave, deciding to stay would feel like crossing some boundary you’ve never encountered before, not with kara.

you pull the door shut behind you, exhaling long and slow as you do so. lucy must hear, because she says your name gently, letting it spill across the space “alex,” she says “you need to sit down.”

she’s probably right.

“the dogs-“ you start, the ache in your chest is spreading, becoming a thick band around your ribs. you feel the uneven rhythm to your breathing and curl your hands, pressing clipped nails into the soft skin of your palm. before you can make it to the porch door, lucy’s hand grabs your own.

she’s standing now, you’re unsure when that happened. she’s so close you can hear her steady breathing, there’s no strength in her grip – her touch is light, she’s asking you to stay.

“sit.” she says

you find that in this moment, you can’t deny lucy. despite instincts telling you to run, older instincts stir in the back of your mind, and you’re sitting next to lucy on the couch. her hand is still caught with yours, her fingers unmoving.

you stare at the floor, where roo’s rawhide lays. it feels easier to fixate on that then chance looking over at lucy.

“i know,” she says after minutes have slipped past “i know it’s been a long time, but you can still talk to me.” you can hear the tremble in her voice and you know that lucy is afraid that you’ll reject her.

her fear isn’t unfounded, that much you have the self-awareness to realise. she’s watched you disappear into your own pain too many times before.

you take a deep breath “i don’t know what to feel.” you say finally, each word forced into the open. it’s been so long since you’ve talked about yourself in any capacity.

“i think that’s okay.” lucy replies “there isn’t exactly a section in the handbook for this kind of situation.” she pauses for long seconds until, “and, i, i’ll understand if you want me to leave.”

you look over at her sharply, surprised at your own veracity “no,” you say “stay. i want you to stay.”

lucy squeezes your hand, “okay.” she says, her voice thick emotions you see matched in her eyes “i’ll stay.” she says.

there’s a flutter in your chest, and your gaze drifts to the blood drying on lucy’s cheek “can i clean that?” you ask.

lucy nods “yeah.” she says “yeah, go ahead.”

you stand, and even from the brief respite you’re already feeling your bodys developing protest at being nearly blown up. there’s a deep-set ache developing in your left shoulder, the one that hasn’t been the same since bolivia. old pains light up as you walk across the room in a sort of elderly hobble.

“you look like crap.” lucy says, watching you rummage beneath the sink for a mammoth first aid kit.

“i was nearly blown up.” you remind as you place it on the coffee table and kneel in front of it, knees popping “and i’m not as young as i used to be.”

“neither of us are.” lucy says.

you pull out some gauze and sterile water, wetting it before you rock up onto your knees. you’re level with lucy’s face, one hand coming to her jaw, guiding her to look away from you and expose the wound “this might hurt.” you murmur.

lucy’s eyes flutter shut and you involve yourself in the process of cleaning the wound. you start with the drying blood, running through a few pieces of damp gauze as you expose the bruised skin underneath. at this proximity you can feel lucy flinch away the first time you touch the edge of the wound itself.

“sorry.” you murmur.

lucy imperceptibly shakes her head, “not your fault.” she says

her words tug at a memory from the recess of your brain, a time when it was lucy tending to your wounds. you don’t think about that night, the night you left it all and turned up at her apartment. now however, with lucy sitting in front of you, the memory refuses to be displaced. you find yourself digging out a pack of steri-strips and asking, voice a murmur still “do you remember when you did this for me?”

“which time?” lucy counters, her voice just as soft.

not a bad point, you can’t help the flicker of a smile. before-, before the world fell apart at your fingertips lucy would patch you up when you insisted you were fine. she would show up at your door with a take-out and gatorade, looking after you when you ditched the deo medics.

you’re glad to return the favour.

“dc.” you say, the two syllables enough.

“of course, i remember.” lucy says, her body softening as she speaks, one hand coming to your elbow and resting there “you passed out on my couch for most of the next three days after that.”

waking up there had felt like surfacing from the depths of the ocean. you felt out of sorts, unable to relax and certain that any number of black book agencies were going to knock down lucy’s door.

they hadn’t.

you remember what lucy had promised you when she caught you trying to leave in the middle of the night, you remember her words as if she had just spoke them _”they won’t touch you. they won’t come near you.”_ she had said,

and she was right.

you don’t know what strings she pulled or what connections she used to keep the covert world off your back, and you’re not sure lucy would tell if you asked. 

you realise the silence that has dragged on, but you can’t find the right words. not when you’re this close to lucy, with so little room to rearrange your roiling emotions.

so the silence continues, easy and familiar until,

finally, “there,” you say, rocking back onto your heels and assessing your work “it wasn’t that deep.” you tell her “should heal without a scar.”

“thank you.” lucy says, the hand at your elbow trailing up along your forearm, along the side of your palm. her touch is grounding, centring you to the moment.

for half a second, she looks about to speak, but whatever words she had must fade because you watch her lean back into the couch with her eyes closed. it gives you a moment to study her, to see the exhaustion in her face and in the slump of her shoulders “how’s your head?” you ask.

“pounding.” she answers honestly, “what about you, how do you feel?”

a loaded question if you ever heard one.

“like i nearly got blown up.” you say, side-stepping the emotional chaos you’re currently in. you can feel the band tightening around your chest, the acceleration of your heart and the way it pounds in your ears. “i should go into town, get the dogs, pick up food, painkillers. kar-kara’s going to need to eat when she wakes up. so will you.”

“alex-“ lucy starts.

“i’ll come back.” you say, “i’ll come back and i’ll rest. but, but i need to do this.”

you know that lucy can sense your growing turmoil, you know she wants to help. you just,

can’t,

can’t let her in, can’t let her see the truth of who you’ve become out here in these woods. one step from disaster and moreso now than ever with kara,

kara,

unconscious in your bed.

your hands are shaking before you even turn on the ignition.

* * *

you take the drive to jemma’s slowly if only so you have time to gain something like composure. it’s a big ask considering the knots in your stomach writhing like so many snakes. you can feel a band of tightness winching as your mind drifts from kara to lucy, to kara standing there amidst the rubble,

to kara unconscious in your bed.

kara.

your hands are gripped white-knuckle, at the steering-wheel. you’re looking at the road ahead without seeing it; mind caught on a thousand small details you thought you’d lost forever.

the weight of kara in your arms.

the way she spreads across the whole bed without hesitation. 

it’s been years,

years and now –

now what?

you’re not sure you have an answer to that question; aren’t sure you’ll have an answer to that question until kara wakes up. which in itself could take hours or days or months.

you turn left onto the drive that leads to jemma’s house. you’ve been here only once before, when you got blind drunk in the bar and somehow it was jemma who looked after you. or, looked after you as much as you can look after someone who disappears in the night, still half intoxicated and walks home in the pouring rain. you don’t remember much of that walk, but you do remember jemma’s house. you remember it being warm, the couch was soft, obviously well-loved and much used. you remember photos on the wall, so many photos.

the house emerges from amongst the trees, looking like a lincoln-log set on steroids.

you see jemma’s truck on the drive and hear the familiar sounds of roo and popeye going ballistic. you take a moment, half a second before cutting the engine, to take a breath. it’s been weeks where it feels like hours for you – a thought that fucks with your head more than the memory of kara currently unconscious in your bed.

jemma’s at the screen door before you’re out of the truck, two dogs pushing past her – roo and popeye. they’re sprinting, arguably as fast as you’ve ever seen them run, and you can’t help but drop down to a knee. you feel your body protest as the dogs careen into you, licking at you, tails wagging. only artemis hangs back. she’s excited, you can tell. yet she’s lingering by jemma like a nervous toddler. you suspect artemis is mad that you left, that you were gone for so long.

“she’s been sulking since you dropped her off.” jemma says, looking from artemis, then back to you “it’s good to see you.” she adds, warmth to her voice and concern in her eyes.

“it’s good to be back.” and that much is true “thank you,” you say “for looking after them, for,” you swallow hard as you remember her words

_no matter what._

“you know.” you conclude.

“yeah,” jemma says “are you,” she starts “is it, are you hurt?” she finally settles on.

“a little.” you tell her “nothing that won’t heal.”

she wants more. you know she wants more.

“i’m going to have some people staying with me for a while.” you tell her, surprising yourself with the admission “but once it all calms down,” you pause, not sure what you’re offering.

“you know where to find me.” jemma says with a soft smile, easing your building nerves with a look “i’m glad you’re back.” she says “you seem, lighter.”

you nod, throat thick with all the words you can’t say.

“thanks.” is all that comes out, ragged.

your gaze drifts to artemis “i can leave you here.” you tell her “i’m sure jemma would love to keep you around.”

artemis considers you for long seconds before coming down from the porch at a steady pace.

“she’s definitely mad at me.” you say.

“she’ll get over it.” jemma reassures.

you open the passenger door and let the dogs pile in, glancing over at jemma again “thank you,” you tell her “honestly, these dogs, they mean the world to me.”

“i know.” jemma says “take it easy, alex.” she says as you climb into the drivers seat.

you don’t say anything in return.

* * *

by the time you get back to the cabin, dogs and half the general store in tow, the sun is sitting low on the horizon. you can see lucy sitting on the porch, gaze focused on the lake but you’re sure she was listening for your truck. now, as the dogs take off towards the cabin, towards lucy, you see tension release from her shoulders as she stands “let me give you a hand.” she says.

“thanks.” you exhale.

“everything go alright with the dogs?” lucy asks, concerned, hand brushing over yours as she takes a paper bag brimming with packages frozen potstickers.

“yeah,” you say easily, unsure if you’re able to explain the twisting of emotions in your gut,

unsure if you want to “how’s kara?” you ask.

“still out cold.” lucy says “she could be for days you know.”

“i know.” you say softly, walking in through the ajar cabin door and setting two paper bags down on the counter “i-“ you start, stop, run a hand through your hair.

“talk to me.” lucy says quietly.

she’s next to you, less than a foot from you.

“i-“ you start, “this doesn’t feel real.” you admit, gaze fixed on the rippling water of the lake “what if i wake up and it’s, and none of this has happened? and it’s me and the dogs and you’re gone and kara’s-“ you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence as your breathing deteriorates into uneven hiccups.

lucy takes a step closer. you feel her fingers brush against the exposed skin of your forearm, running light over the bones you’re your wrist before lacing her fingers with your own “it’s real.” she promises “this is real. i’m here and kara’s here and when you wake up, we’ll still be here.”

you swallow hard.

“you need to sleep.” lucy says, her voice still level and soft and quiet.

you nod, feeling the deep-set exhaustion settle into your bones.

“on the couch.” lucy adds.

“luce-“

“you’re not winning this one danvers.” she says and her tone reminds of times long gone by.

“i’m going to shower.” you decide.

“i’ll make something to eat.” lucy says “and put all this away.” she gestures to the groceries.

“thanks.” you say, feeling her hand still intertwined with yours.

you know you should move, should go use the outdoor shower to get the dust and debris of the day away. you should help lucy cook and get this food put away.

you should, but you’re stuck. you’re rooted to the spot.

for long seconds you don’t say anything, you don’t move, you barely breathe. it’s only when lucy speaks, her voice breaking the muted silence to say

“you need to look after yourself too.” her words are encouragement.

“i don’t think i’ve done that for a long time.” you reply honestly.

“then let me help.” lucy says and for the first time her voice wavers.

her words bring tears to your eyes.

“alex,” she says, her hand gripping yours “it’s been so long.”

you nod.

“i know.” you murmur, voice thick “i know.”

“go shower.” lucy says “you’ll feel better for it.”

* * *

she’s right.

you come back into the house dressed in sweatpants and an old shirt you think you stole. you don’t feel less tired, but you do feel more human. you feel less disconnected from the world, from yourself. you’re greeted by artemis as you walk back into the house, a wet nose snuffling at your fingers. you scratch behind her ears “i’m sorry i left.” you say,

to artemis,

to lucy,

you’re not sure.

lucy, stirring pasta sauce in a pan turns and looks over her shoulder.

you could pretend it was for the dog, but

you meet lucy’s gaze.

“i know why you left.” she says.

“you know what i did.”

it’s not a question.

“i know why you did it.” lucy replies.

“it didn’t help.” you say “any of it.”

“maybe it did at the time.” lucy says, offering you a bowl of pasta.

to that, you say nothing for a beat. she’s probably right, you had such bloodlust and so much anger that it consumed you. wetwork and blackbook operations gave you an outlet. gave you targets for all your rage. until the girl, 

the little girl who wandered into the view of your scope. you remember the dress she was wearing with the yellow ribbon in her hair. you remember the ice cream in hand and the way she offered it out to her little brother. 

you remember - 

well, you remember the realisation slamming into you that if you did this job, the fallout would likely get those kids killed. 

so you walked away. 

you’d walked away and hadn’t stopped until you were knocking on lucy’s door in dc. 

“alex,” 

lucy’s voice shakes you from your thoughts, 

“you okay?” 

“i’m good.” you say, setting your pasta down on the table “want something to drink?” you ask.

lucy nods “water.” she says, still watching you. 

“i got you some of that lactaid stuff,” you say, like she wouldn’t have somehow seen it when she was putting the groceries away.

“thanks.” lucy smiles, making a bowl up for herself.

you both sit,

both with views of the lake and the smear of pink across the horizon that’s the last remnants of the setting sun.

you spin your fork through the spaghetti and take a bite.

“this feels weird,” you say, mouth still half full.

“oh?”

“normal.” you say “the most normal i’ve felt in a long time.”

silence.

two seconds, three.

“maybe it could stay this way.” lucy offers.

“it’s a different world out here.” you warn her.

“i think i’m ready for change.” lucy says, and when you look over, she’s barely breathing.

she’s nervous you realise.

“me too.” you tell her, thinking of lucy, of kara.

you barely believe this to be real.

* * *

as it turns out,

neither does kara.

hours later, you’re somewhere just beyond utterly unconscious when a noise startles you into slipping off the couch you and lucy had been sharing. you land on the floor, hard, and it takes long seconds for you to piece together what’s happening in front of you.

one – kara, wide eyed and staring at you.

two – lucy is on the floor, coughing and touching at her neck gingerly.

three – the dogs are on their feet, confused but unmoving.

for the moment, you stay still. you watch the way kara’s hands are shaking, the way her whole body is trembling. you try and meet her gaze, but she looks away.

“this is a trick.” she says finally “this is a cadmus trick. you’re not real.”

“i’m real.” you say quietly “i’m real and lucy’s real. you’re on a different earth.”

her gaze snaps to you “how?”

“sara lance.” you say, using one hand to ease yourself up off the floor and onto the couch “the legends of tomorrow. they came and got me.”

a pause, kara studying you. her gaze locked with yours. 

“we’ve met before, in national city,” she says, her voice soft, confused but less hostile “you showed me your necklace. my necklace.” she shakes her head “but it, it was your heartbeat that convinced me. you, you have the same heartbeat as my alex.”

you nod.

“where am i now?”

“oregeon.” you say “on my earth.”

“it’s quiet.” she says “that scared me. i’m not used to quiet.” she takes a breath and reaches a hand to help lucy up “i’m sorry,” she says “about choking you.”

“it’s okay.” lucy nods “i’m okay.”

“i shouldn’t have done that.” kara says.

“you were confused.”

“i think i still am.” kara says.

“we can talk,” you say “if you want. there’s pasta, if you want some. frozen potstickers in the freeze if you-“

kara’s eyes light up “those.” she says.

you nod, startled at how familiar that look of excitement is “i’ll make them. do you want to sit down?”

“can i pet your dogs?”

“sure, they’re friendly.” you say.

kara kneels down and all three make their way over at once.

you reach into the freezer and take out two packs of potstickers and put them across a tray. you hear kara talking quietly to the dogs and feel lucy’s hand across the small of your back “i’m going to get some sleep in the truck.” she says.

“no way,” you tell her as you turn the oven on “that’s insane.”

“you and kara need to talk.” she counters “you need space to do that.”

“you can take the bed,” kara offers.

“do that.” you agree “that makes more sense.”

“are you sure?” lucy asks, looking between you, to kara and back again.

“yes.” you and kara say at the same time.

“okay then.” lucy says with a half-hidden smile “wake me if you need me.” she says.

you nod, watching her disappear into the bedroom before making your way back to where kara is sitting.

“you must have questions.” you say.

kara, occupied with roo draped across her lap, nods “i don’t understand what happened.” she says “sara lance came and got you, you came to me and-“

“and got you out of danger.” you say “brought you somewhere safe.”

“and this place, it’s, it’s safe?”

you nod “i’ve lived here for a while.”

“since i died?”

even with kara sitting in front of you, the question still stings, still brings tears to your eyes “not quiet.” you say “i, i had a lot of anger after you died. people took advantage of that. i did some bad things.”

“what kind of bad things?”

you hesitate for only half a second as your mind flashes through the faces of people you’ve killed, some from a distance, some where you saw the light leave their eyes. then national city, decimated and in ruins settles in your mind and you decide kara deserves an answer, deserves the truth. 

“i killed people.” you say “lots of people. i didn’t feel bad about it then.”

“and now?”

“some of them deserved it.”

“did some of them kill me?”

you close your eyes, trying not to remember kara’s dead body caught in a green glow.

“yeah,” you say “yeah, some of them did.”

“how?”

you shake your head “i-“ you start, but before you say more kara is apologising.

“that’s not fair.” she says “i’m sorry.”

“i lost you.” you tell her “i couldn’t protect you, i lost you. it-“ you feel tears stinging your eyes.

“it’s like someone ripped your heart out.” kara says “you expect the world to notice, to care, but everyone keeps on living, keeps on doing what they did before. but nothing feels right. nothing feels like it should. it’s almost unbearable.”

“i barely survived.” you say “losing you nearly killed me.”

silence, for a measure and then “i think it would have killed me. i think, i think if you hadn’t come…” she trails off, she doesn’t need to explain. 

you understand exactly how she felt, remember those feelings. 

you sit in companionable silence for a time.

it’s surreal to be sitting here with kara, to have her sitting here in your cabin, next to you petting roo and popeye and describing how it felt to lose you. simultaneously you’re elated and on the edge of being sick right here with artemis in your lap. 

it’s all you can do to sit here and keep breathing.

“what happens now?” kara asks, dragging you from your thoughts.

you swallow hard, this is the part you had been dreading “anything you want.” you tell her “i have some money, you can have it. you can go anywhere, do anything. the world, this world, it’s okay, it’s safe for you.”

“what if i wanted to stay here?” kara says, cautious, unsure.

your heart skips a beat “you could,” you say “if you wanted.”

kara looks over at you “really?” she asks, half surprised.

“yeah,” you nod “yeah, really. if you want. i-“ you swallow hard “i’d like it if you did.”

there’s a pause and then, “it feels too good to be true,” kara says “like this is all a dream. i’ll wake up and you’ll still be dead.”

“i feel the same.” you say quietly, shifting and reaching for her hand.

she takes it.

“i’m real.” you tell her “this is real.” you add “and it’s different, we’re different. but,” you search for words “maybe it can help us both. i lost you, and you lost me. but now we have each other. if you want.”

“i do want.” she says “and i bet a lot of the things on this earth are the same as on mine.” she says “except that you’re alive. you’re here. and i, i want to hold on to that for as long as i can.”

“okay,” you nod “then we’ll figure it out. we’ll go one day at a time.”

“that sounds good.” kara says, and then “can i ask you a question?”

“anything.” you tell her.

“you and lucy are a thing right?”

you snort, you can’t help it.

“i think we are.” you say.

“you think?” kara says “i only just got here and i can see she’s in love with you.”

“it’s complicated.” you say.

“you have another girlfriend you’re hiding out here?”

you shake your head, an honest to god smile tugging at the corners of your mouth “no.” you say.

“and obviously you love her.”

“you’ve been awake for twenty minutes,” you tell her “how can you know that?”

“because you were on my earth.” kara says “head over heels.”

you blink “oh.”

“she loved you back.” kara says.

a question sits on the tip of your tongue but kara beats you to it,

“she died not long after you did.” she says “ a lot of people died after you died.”

you squeeze kara’s hand but say nothing.

time passes.

minutes bleed together until the smell of charring potstickers pulls you from your reverie. you retrieve them from the oven and kara insists she’ll still eat them.

you slide them onto a plate and move over to the back porch where kara has relocated. you sit down next to her.

“it’s nice out here.” kara says between mouthfuls of potstickers.

“i always thought you’d like it.” you say “that’s part of why i picked it.” you say “it’s the kind of place we talked about going to, when cadmus was dealt with, when we had some free time. bring j’onn and lucy and james and probably everyone.”

“they wouldn’t fit in your cabin.” kara points out.

“no shit.” you laugh lightly.

“i’m just saying.”

you eye her rapidly emptying plate of food “do you want that pasta?” you ask.

kara nods “please.” she says.

you go inside to heat it up and while you’re standing there, watching a mountain of spaghetti turn in the microwave, you realise that for the first time since kara died,

it feels like you can breathe,

like the blood of the people you killed isn’t quite as close to drowning you.

it shakes you, startles you to tears.

kara notices.

you know she notices because all of a sudden she’s standing next to you are you’re leaned over the sink with tears rolling down your cheeks.

what happens next is instinct.

it’s you pulling kara into your arms.

it’s you holding her and clinging to her and promising to remember this moment forever because it wasn’t supposed to happen,

you weren’t supposed to get this second chance.

yet here she is. kara is in your arms and she is crying as hard as you are.

you’re different, and she’s different,

but she’s still your sister.

she’s still your little sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has commented and kudoed on this story. i know major character death and explorations around it are not everyone's cup of tea so i greatly appreciate all of your support. thanks y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> this will be posted in three parts, ± an epilogue. 
> 
> i know these are wild times, challenging emotionally and otherwise for all of us. please look after yourselves and each other, as best you can. 
> 
> thank you to racethewind10 and nerdsbianhokie, who were vital in the creation and posting of this story. without either of you, this story would not have come this far. 
> 
> as ever, hit me up on tumblr at 4beit if you want to shout at me.


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